Don't sweat the small stuff

Don’t sweat the small stuff (4th January, 2011)

I ponder the little mysteries of life
late at night,
screen-blind and overtired, unable to sleep,
like:
Why is it so easy to talk to you here, MSN and
Facebook messages back and forth
so straight, so clear,
yet
face to face in daylight, I am tongue-tied?

These are the things that keep
my tiny mind from precious sleep
when my rest is all I need,
the alarm set
to half past five.
I see
the clock creep
past midnight yet again, and still
I lie awake and chase these thoughts of mine
around my brain.

Sometimes the simple questions seem most satisfying,
like:
why is cold pizza always nicer than hot pizza,
day old and morning after?
Like:
why is hot breath steaming in cold air
so fascinating
each and every time,
like:
why is finding twenty p,
the coin that lets you afford that
desperate coffee,
the thing that makes your day?

But it’s the big questions that really haunt me.

‘Don’t sweat the small stuff.’
That was your advice,
standing in that warm, white room
with the sunlight streaming through,
bringing the voices of cicadas
singing
a chorus
to your wiseness,
your:
‘Make the most of the time you have.’
With time running out
behind us.

So why do the big things divide us?

Why
does every fight feel the same,
us treading through the same words,
shedding the same tears,
dreading the script we always play?

Why
is the night so long and empty
when you leave, house
shuddering, cold air
flooding in, comfortless.

And why
is a kick in the teeth more precious
from someone you love,
than a kiss
from someone you just plain hate?

I lie, and I sweat, and I ponder…

still awake.